Dragon Age Oneshots
by 2.71828
Summary: Carver throws a punch, Danarius proposes, and other pointless inanities.
1. Twins

/*Anon asked for an AU where Garrett/Marian died and Carver + Bethany survived Lothering.*/

Thomas whistled through his teeth. "What's a pretty little thing like that doing here?"

Aveline glanced up, seeing Bethany come around the corner at last.

"Her name's Bethany. She's the mage Meeran mentioned." Aveline hoped the word "mage" would imply the word "dangerous", and the man would stop his leering. Unfortunately, Thomas wasn't that easily deterred.

"Well now, I can see why she wouldn't want to go to the Gallows. Sweet little dove like her shouldn't go anywhere near them templars." Aveline snorted in derision. _As if you'd be any good for her._

"You know," Aveline leaned back against a crate, choosing her words carefully, "she has a twin."

"A twin!" Thomas' eyes lit up. "You think the pair of them might fancy a drink? Or cards? I'm sure I can find some way to entertain them."

"A twin brother," Aveline kept her voice neutral. "He's standing right behind you."

Thomas turned, his face meeting Carver's fist.


	2. Danarius Proposes

/* Pride and Prejudice and Dragon Age, oh my! */

Marian was stumbling in a giddy exhaustion when she reached the door of her estate. It hadn't been a quiet day.

Bodahn greeted her at the door. "There's a Magister Danarius to see you, Serah. I left him in the study."

"Thank you, Bodahn." Marian turned to her mabari. "Jeeves, go get Fenris for me." The sight of the dog without his mistress should be enough to bring the elf to her door. Maybe he'd even think to bring backup.

Squaring her shoulders, Marian put her hand to the study door.

"Lady Hawke, I presume." The man was leaning against the mantlepiece with an air of importance. As if the room was somehow beneath him.

"Please, call me Marian." She gestured for him to sit. "What brings you to Kirkwall this time of year?" And why did you come here, instead of visiting your mansion first? Not that I'm, complaining...

"You would do well to wonder, Mistress Hawke. You must be surprised to see me, and your surprise will be all the more compounded when you are told the reason for my visit. Your entire life is about to change, Mistress Hawke. I have come to make you my apprentice."

Marian stared, trying hard not to laugh. Danarius must have interpreted her silence as tacit agreement, because he continued.

"My reasons for taking an apprentice are, firstly, that the position is vacant. Your killing of Hadriana suggests that you must be a mage of some strength. Secondly, the Archon himself has told me to take on a pupil. I am very fortunate to have the patronage of the Archon, few can claim such a notable benefactor. Why it was just the Saturday before I left when the Archon said to me, 'Choose an apprentice, Danarius! A senator like yourself cannot be without one. Choose a biddable one for my sake, and for your own, choose a competent one, someone able to make a little mana go a long way without the need to drain your slaves. Find someone like this, bring them to Minrathous, and I will visit them.' So you see, Mistress Hawke, that the Archon himself will greet you personally in Tevinter."

"You will find him to be an amiable sort of fellow, and I am certain he will find you an agreeable citizen. I understand you cannot bring the usual gifts to the apprenticeship, except for Fenris, of course, who is mine already. Worry not! Once we are in Tevinter I will never again mention your lowly origins so as not to scandalize the senate."

He paused, and his face beamed a smile at her as if he had just neatly solved a major dilemna. Marian found the whole idea ludicrous. The exhaustion of the past few days added a whole feeling of surreality to the scene, forcing her to stifle her giggles. Why hadn't Fenris shown up yet?

"You forget that I have not answered, Serah." _Keep a straight face, Marian. For once, mind your manners. _ "Please, allow me to do so now. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, but you must understand that I cannot accept."

Danarius waved her comment off the back of his hand. "I know, I know, you must be in shock. Such a sudden elevation in society! It speaks well of you that you know your place in life so well. But I doubt the Archon would disapprove. I will tell him of you when next I write, and speak well of you. There is nothing for you to fear on that account."

"I have no fears on that account. I do not care what the Archon thinks of me, for he will never meet me. I have built a life here for myself, and I will not leave it."

Danarius gestured to the room around him. "This? This is what you have built for yourself? No mage of your calibre should settle for such a shabby lifestyle. Why look at you, covered in mud! Do you not have slaves to see to your estate? And the servants! In Tevinter, we keep the simple-minded in the kitchen, where they belong."

Marian was too incensed to reply. Fortunately, that was the exact moment Jeeves came in with Fenris hot on his heels.

"Hello, my pet." Fenris' face fell at the sight of his former master. "Your mistress here is to become my apprentice." For one brief, hideous moment, Fenris looked at Hawke, silently begging her to deny it.

"Please, Fenris," she said, "help me kill him."

Fenris was only too happy to oblige.

/* a CRACKFILL production | starring DANARIUS as MR COLLINS | MARIAN HAWKE as ELIZABETH BENNETT| and FENRIS as HIMSELF| CREATIVE COMMONS LICENCE | not for sale, rent or profit */


	3. Tears

/*"Even the paragon of manliness gets emotional sometimes." *Thank you, archive!anon!*/

Bartrand was dead.

Yeah, he had it coming. Still, he was the only brother Varric had. The brother who carried the family finances when mother was drunk. The brother who helped him carry mother, when she couldn't walk. The only person who knew that damn story with the goat and the chicken, because he was _there_.

Sure, Varric could tell the story, but it would never be the same. He turned away from his brother's corpse, slinging Bianca over his shoulder.

"Hey, Varric where you going?" Varric didn't bother to answer. He needed out, needed away. There was a lump in his throat that wouldn't swallow down. On his way down the stairs, Broody took one look at his face, and the elf _knew_. Maker's balls, wasn't that just grand! Varric stormed past him and out the front door of the estate.

He stared up at the night sky, willing his eyes to stay clear and his breathing back to normal. The lump in his throat was trying to turn into sobs, and he _would not_, not here, not infront of Hawke. The crisp fall air stung his lungs and cooled his thoughts.

"Is Varric alright?" Hawke sounded about ready to come out here after him. As if he was some blushing maiden who needed a shoulder to cry on.

"Give the man a moment, Hawke." Broody's deep voice rumbled through the front door, and Varric breathed a sigh of relief. The pounding in his chest slowed, and Varric's eyes finally decided to cooperate with him. He waited until he could strap on his usual mask of joviality before he stepped back inside the estate.

Just inside the threshold. He wasn't going anywhere near the upstairs.

"Are you rogues done stealing from my brother's estate? I'd like to get back to the Hanged Man." _Hey, that didn't sound half bad._ It certainly didn't sound like he'd been on the verge of tears just a few moments ago.

They filed out the door, the elf pausing for a moment, looking at Varric with a question in his eyes. Varric nodded his thanks. The elf gave a small, satisfied grunt and followed after Hawke. Varric scuttled after him, his short legs working double time to catch up to the elf's lanky gait.

"So, Broody, did I ever tell you the story with the goat and the chicken?"


	4. Amell

There weren't many choices, living in the Circle Tower.

Wear these robes. Eat this food. Make this potion. Take that class. Solona was dressed and fed and instructed and collared, just like all the others.

"Now, class, it's time to tend the gardens." Enchanter Wynne, mouthpiece of the templars, herded them outside. The mages were granted fresh air, three times a week, provided the weather was nice.

Solona looked at the clouds on the horizon and wondered what it'd be like to get rained on. What it'd be like to swim Lake Calenhad. What it'd be like to fall - to _fly_ - from the roof of the tower, to feel the wind catch her robes and to finally make one choice for herself. Not that that choice would do her much good.

Jowan gave her the first choice.

"There it is! There's my phylactery. Hurry, destroy it!"

She broke one, then another, and another, until the floor was stained with innocent blood. Her first choice. Not that it would make much difference: the templars would simply take all the apprentice phylacteries again. Still, it felt good.

There were lots of choices, after that. Should I eat stale bread, or Alistair's mystery stew? Should I wear robes or armour? Should I kill the assasin, or spare him? She travelled - travelled! - from Calenhad to Denerim to Redcliffe and back again. She got drunk and got frostbite and tried to see how long she could sustain herself on just rejuvenation spells.

Solona saved the Circle, only to have Wynne try to follow her out of it. Wynne who said "mages belong in the circle" and "it is best for mages to stick together, so we can learn from each other" and "don't antagonize the templars, apprentice. It is better to let sleeping dogs lie." Solona left her to rot in her precious tower.

Some choices weren't hers to make. Alistair wouldn't sleep with Morrigan. She respected that.

It all ended on a tower. The sky was thick with unshed rain. The demon was screaming louder than any templar. There was no wind, she wasn't wearing robes. She picked up the sword, eyes locked on her last choice, and flew.


	5. The Doctor's Dilemna

/* Fenris spends a fair amount of time on Spirit Healer Hawke's couch, rather than heading to Darktown to have his injuries treated. Written for something that will never see the light of day. */

_Knit the muscles back together. Stop the blood flow until this artery's been repaired. Oh look, he broke his rib a few years ago_. As long as she focused on her task, everything would be alright.

He put his armour back on, she turned her back, and everything was fine.

He bid her goodnight, she saw him out the door, and she managed not to make a fool of herself.

It wasn't until she was laying in bed, staring at the canopy, that she could finally let her obsession take over. Her mind drifted to caramel skin laced with pure lyrium, to muscles just a little too defined by hunger and his voice like liquid sex. The scars on his back and the slouch in his posture could not hide his beauty. She remembered what it was like to knit him together, to watch in delight as the torn nerve endings and broken blood vessels joined to create a picture of grace that seeped from the very marrow of his bones. She was almost sad to be done, but then she had to laugh at herself.

_Please let me keep healing you. I think your internal organs are lovely._


End file.
